Messages
by the-kings-tail-fin
Summary: Jackson's always been a closeted McQueen fanboy, but he can't help who he is. Everything he says, every action he takes, and every message he sends drives a wedge between him and his inspiration. He hates it. Oneshot.


"You have no idea what a pleasure it is to finally beat you."

 _Why. Why why why why why would you say something like that? You know better._

Jackson sits alone in his trailer, eyes squeezed shut in an effort to erase the past four hours.

"… a LOT of years…"

He grimaces and shakes himself as though he's ridding water droplets from his hood.

"I think I touched a nerve."

 _You bet you did. The hell is wrong with you?_

Long moments pass. He opens his eyes and stares out the window to his right. The fading light darkens the interior of his trailer. His mood darkens as well. He should be celebrating, not beating himself up over a conversation gone wrong. He'd just won the Dinoco 400, the race he'd always dreamed of.

He should be celebrating.

He doesn't.

* * *

Camera crews swarm Cruz and leave him behind as though he were no more important than yesterday's newspaper. Not a single one of them want to talk to him. It burns.

It's not just the lack of attention. That yellow, graffiti-ed car was McQueen's replacement? And he'd just tried to wreck her.

Well, maybe not _wreck_ her. But prevent her from winning, yeah. He feels his proverbial grave deepening. Every move he makes, intentional or not, pulls him further away from where he wants to be. He'll never be able to climb out of it.

A glint of gold and a couple glaringly bright masses of blue, corporate livery flash in front of him. Dinoco offers Cruz a sponsorship she can't refuse. Storm watches until he can't anymore. It's maybe three seconds of eternity. He wants to explode. He wants to be forgiven, but he can't forgive himself. There's no one to turn to, know one that knows.

Except Gale.

Gale knows everything.

* * *

"Did it again, didn't you?"

She sees straight through him before he ever opens his mouth. He doesn't bother to raise his gaze to meet hers. As quietly as he can, he goes over to his trailer.

"Don't you still have a press conference to go to before we leave?"

Something within him snaps. It's nothing physical, but the pain it bears might as well be. Gale rolls back a few inches as though he's shooting daggers straight into her grille. Months of anger and hate and self reproach flow from his mouth.

"Do you have any idea what this is like?" he yells. "What I'm trying to do?"

* * *

Lightning is rolling toward the Dinoco tent sandwiched between Sally and Cal, making small talk and letting Cruz have her moment in the spotlight when he hears that unmistakable voice. He stops and looks along the row of trailers.

"Somethin' up, Lightnin'?" Cal asks.

Sally spots Storm immediately and narrows her eyes. "Forget him, Stickers. He's done for. You beat him."

"Yeah, I know," McQueen answers, picking up pace again. "Just strange."

Very strange.

It's common knowledge Storm's close to his hauler. They're seen everywhere together, almost like she's his bodyguard. Why's he screaming at her?

Lightning slows down, thinking twice. "You guys go on ahead. I be there in a few."

"Suit yourself."

* * *

"I have spent every waking moment of my career trying to be like him, Gale. You know that. I wouldn't be here today if I hadn't had someone to look up to, someone that - that - "

Storm stutters and loses his train of thought. He can't find the word he's looking for. His scowl deepens.

"All I want is to be recognized by him as a racer that's every bit as good as he is. That's it. But all I'll ever be is the car that played the final card in ending his career. I'm a nobody."

"Jackson…"

Gale's voice is comforting, motherly almost. Her patience exceeds anything Storm has ever experienced. He knows he should appreciate her. He knows he shouldn't take her for granted. But he can't help it.

"You are who you are," the semi tells him. "Don't try so hard to change that. Maybe if you accept that, you can move on and figure out how to - "

"I've tried!" The exasperation in his voice brings a couple nearby pitties to a halt in their tracks, alarmed. "I've tried. I don't _like_ me. I can't stand the way I keep reacting. And i don't know what to do."

* * *

"…I don't know what to do."

Lightning sits silently at the tongue of the trailer, listening. Did he hear that conversation correctly?

He knows he did.

There's a sigh from the hauler. "Jackson, I want to help. I really do. But you need to be willing to let that happen."

There's silence. Lightning frowns and shuffles through a few confused thoughts. Storm wants to be like him? _Well, honestly, who wouldn't,_ he thinks jokingly to himself. But this doesn't seem like a joking matter. Storm isn't in a joking mood. Beaufort isn't either.

Is this his fault?

 _No, don't be unreasonable. He's a victim of his own crimes._

 _But that doesn't mean he has to stay that way… You know that better than anyone, McQueen._

Gathering his gumption to approach the duo, he stops short as the black semi truck turns to leave.

"The press tent wants you present and ready to talk in ten minutes," Gale says. " _We_ will talk later."

Lightning ducks out of sight as she passes him. Within moments she's gone. He's seen her with Mack before. Maybe they're friends. Maybe Mack has some words of wisdom he's willing to impart. Or maybe he's just her break from the stresses of dealing with Storm.

But that doesn't matter right now. Lightning reigns in his concentration on Storm. The trailer is quivering slightly, mimicking the movement from within. It stops. The high pitched idling of Jackson's engine emerges from the open mouth of the black cavern, and in seconds Storm is gone, out of sight.

Lightning doesn't try to catch him, but he does take a look around the IGNTR trailer. Everything is dark, like Storm, like Beaufort and Reverham. But way in the back, there's some brightness.

It's small, and he can only barely make it out without entering the racer's private space, but he knows those colors anywhere. Those are his. That's him.

Near the mouth of the trailer, off to the side, there's a crumpled pad of paper with some scribbles on it. Jackson must be a doodler. McQueen inches closer. Some of those pictures are quite good.

He finds some blank space a couple pages in, picks up the nearby pen and jots down a short note. He wouldn't talk to Storm today, and maybe not ever again. But that's okay.

"Let yourself be who you're meant to be. Everything else will fall into place."


End file.
